Yasuo, the Unforgiven

nder the fierce Shurimian sun, our blades met with a burst of sparks and clash of steel. I wasn’t sure who this man was, but his skill was formidable. Likely he saw my weathered cloak and took me for a defenseless wanderer. A wanderer, true, but defenseless? Hardly.

The bandit spun back, landing with his left foot behind him in a duelist stance, blade raised and eyes hardened. I had considered offering him mercy, but the look on his face was answer enough. There would be no quarter; this was now a fight to the death.

Hoping to bait him into a mistake, I purposely struck a weak stance, looking as if I had some training with my weapon but not much. I held the sword like him, even though mine was meant to be welded with two hands and surely he knew that. I was banking on the fact that he didn’t know I knew he knew that.

It appeared to work. He let out a battle cry and rushed towards me, all the poise in his stance now gone, and swung a staggering blow at my sword. I waited until all of his momentum was in the swing before calmly stepping to the left, cleanly missing his blade by inches. As I stepped past his attack our eyes briefly met, and in that moment I saw he knew he had made a mistake. He was about to find out just how bad a mistake it was.

Returning to my original stance, and offering a half bow as way of taunt, this time I placed both hands firmly on the hilt of my sword. Of all things in life, all things I had left behind, or burned, or killed, or abandoned, or been abandoned by, this blade was the one thing that had remained constant. I held her firmly and lovingly in both hands, flexing my fingers against the polished oak of her base, admiring the way the sun caught her steel eye at the apex of the blade, and thought back to a time when we had fought fights that mattered. Back when we were known by a name that was our own, both of us, and not just Wanderer. Back when we were Yasuo, me the Yas, her the uo, two broken pieces forged into one magnificent force. One mind, one blade, one purpose: hadn’t someone said these words to him once? It was so long ago it was hard to remember.

But those times were long ago, and my idle musings nearly cost me dearly, for the bandit took this opportunity to strike again. Narrowly avoiding his next attack (which was far more calculated; perhaps it was  I who had underestimated him), I focused my energy into my feet and my hands, letting myself feel the earth, to connect myself to the energy of the world, and thus to feel the wind. The wind always blew true, and the wind had always guarded my back. I doubted it would stop now.